Friday, July 1, 2011

The derivative of thursday with respect to drank is J Dilla and a G. Rap album

People aren't supposed to live like this. I watch Netflix until the crack of dawn, nap, wake up, nap again, write, nap, and teach some calculus to a kid 7 years younger and with twice as much potential as I ever had.

Thursday, I'm awake for once before noon, feeling my way down the freeway to Sugar Land. Enter my dented Honda Accord blaring Bone Thugs and Notorious BIG into the 'burbs, complete with automated gate and manicured lawns. It's like driving back into my adolescence.

So 20 minutes into explaining derivatives to Zach, I realize I'm basically winging the lesson of the day and grasping at straws when I try to prove the product rule of derivatives on a blank sheet of wide rule. Thankfully, FBISD still uses the same textbooks as they did 7 years ago--Appendix A saves the day. Bingo, twelve o'clock comes and I'm up another 50 bucks as I head to Yangtze with Matt for the $3.50 lunch special.

Matt and I hound the soup bucket for three rounds, then relocate to the organic tea house to work on summer projects and get a pint (of tea, mind you). A couple hours in, Matt's got sound effects lined up for his game production and I'm half-assing a track for some cut scenes, Peter calls up and mentions that it's "Ho Thursday" (our little joke about Cafe 101 happy hour). ("Yeah, it IS Ho Thursday.") One Ho Thursday later, we're in the car rolling around Hong Kong City Mall, honking (literally) through all the parking lots and looking for sushi.

When we finally make it home, I pass out for a bit and when I wake up, it's 1:44 AM. It occurs to me then that this, this was my day. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there's a voice saying stuff like "Don't y'all got anything better to do? Don't you have jobs?" But it's all drowned out by another voice doing a 2Pac impression, throwing up fake gang signs and yelling "THUG LYYYFE!!!"

So it's 3:45 AM, the world's asleep, I'm running J Dilla and G. Rap on my playlist, wondering about my next calculus lesson plan for Zach, and watching some video clips from my 25th birthday. I have to laugh as I watch Peter hobbling around the video in his crutches, Andy rocking out on my guitar singing Third-Eye Blind, my pneumonia meds sprawling across the coffee table. My thoughts stray back to New Orleans, and the future career doctor in me is incredulous at these memories. There's an overwhelming sense of guilty pleasure involved in all of this.

Life should not be this obnoxious.

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